Paris: Thursday...

Thursday was probably the most easygoing day of all for us. We both woke up pretty late, due to colds we had magically developed overnight, so by the time we got going it was already like noon. Whoopsies. Although, i really didn't feel that guilty because we had pretty much been packing our days full for the whole week. So a few extra hours of rest didn't do us any harm.

We decided that we would dedicate Thursday to Montmartre exclusively. We did this because Montmartre is a huge pain to get to, mostly because it's very far away, and also because there is a TON of walking involved. And not easy walking, we're talking up and down big hills. Montmartre is translated to "Mountain of Martyrs," so that should give you some idea of what we were facing. But we knew this, so we wore comfortable shoes and felt pretty prepared for the challenge.

However.

There are always things in Paris that only Parisians seem to know. Little tricks-of-the-trade, things you should probably know before you attempt anything in Paris. Things that les stupides Americans do not typically know. Unfortunately for us, no one had mentioned anything about the Montmartre metro station. We read gobs and gobs about the mountain itself, where the painters are, where the tourist traps are, who's trying to scam you, etc., but failed to come across this one detail in all our research. Here's the thing: Paris metro stations are essentially laid out like a blind architect just threw darts at a drawing board to determine where the platforms ought to be: which is to say, poorly. So it's not uncommon to be faced with set after set of stairs, some for you to go up and some for you to go down, with escalators sort of sparsely mixed in. Elevators are for the handicapped. So you develop an attitude of "I can do anything" or more realistically "I can climb any set of stairs." This is a dangerous mindset.

Montmartre is a mountain right? And the metro station is underground. So it didn't occur to us that the stairs to get up to the surface would be like…incredibly long. And incredibly steep. And numerous. And in the shape of a spiral. And that when everyone lined up at the elevator and gave us funny looks because we opted for the stairs, we maybe should have followed them. But we didn't, because we have been here for a week, and we can do anything, guys. How dare you doubt us and our stair climbing ability.

I have never been so exhausted in my life. That we made it out of the metro station is a feat in and of itself, forget climbing to Montmartre, the important thing was that we made it onto solid ground.

Montmartre is a really pretty area, but it is also quite touristy, so you get scammers and pickpockets and gypsies, and things of that nature. It's not really a big deal, you just have to pay attention to what's going on around you. But the views of Paris are spectacular, and on a clear day you can practically see out to Charles de Gaulle (or Orly, we weren't sure which, if either at all. We're educated like that). There is a square, Place du Tertre, almost in the middle of Montmartre, surrounded by cafes, where the artists set up their easels and sell their wares. There's a lot of crappy portrait artists, but if you can separate them out from the locals, you can find some really awesome artwork.

I was there specifically hoping to find an artist from who I purchased a small watercolor painting about 8 years ago. I knew her name was Nicole, and that her last name started with an M. That was it. But I wanted to get another piece of her artwork, so I was determined to at least try and find her. After much circling, looking for a similar style of art, we were coming up empty handed, so I convinced Matt to help me ask one of the older looking artists if they knew her. Surprise! They knew who we were talking about, and brought us over to her husband, who was selling her paintings for her. I explained to him who I was and what I was looking for, and he told me that Nicole had broken her shoulder and was unable to sell her art, so he was doing it for her. And he told me her last name was Mathieu, which sounded about right to me. Her art though was completely different. It seemed like she had sold out to the tourists a little and had a lot of eiffel tour and neon color artwork- it didn't seem so original. So we thanked her husband and went on to find something to eat.

And, here is where we have to deal with something we had a problem with the whole trip: cafe etiquette. We just hadn't been in a restaurant when we didn't feel like we were awkwardly accomplishing some horrific cultural faux pas. So Matt refused to go into the little cafe on a side street (places right off the artists' square are notoriously expensive) on the grounds that we had no one to watch enter and what if we did it wrong? Looking back on it we were just being dumb, as I'm sure they would have been perfectly friendly, but it was terrifying at the time. So, hungry and annoyed, we walked into the first restaurant we saw off the square, thinking that they would at least know what to do with us. Big mistake. The menu was ridiculously expensive, there was nothing on it that sounded appealing, and by this point we were  mad at each other and everyone around us.

So we ordered 2 coffee's and a carafe d'eau (a pitcher of tap water) from a very harried and mad looking waiter, who immediately removed all our table coverings with a sweeping motion and stomped off to stand behind the bar, no doubt commiserating about our inexcusable behavior with the bartender. And really? The coffee wasn't even good. So he had nothing to be complaining about, because even I can brew a decent cup of coffee, monsieur. And I learned how to use the coffee machine like, 3 months ago. After sweating and feeling awkward and uncomfortable and knowing everyone was probably ready to kill us, we left exact change on the table and got the heck out of there.

We found our way down a side road to a tiny little boulangerie, which I fell in love with immediately, of course. Although, really, that isn't so impressive because old fashioned lettering and flaky baked goods are basically the key to my heart. So we dined on a hearty meal of deliciousness, involving pain au chocolat (chocolate croissants), macaroons (citrus and chocolate), and a flaky turnover filled with apples (basically like apple pie filling) that I am determined to figure out the name of and just haven't been able to at all. So not healthy, but I would consume any number of calories just to be able to taste those pastries again. And we sat at a wood table facing out onto the street and just people watched, as only the french know how to do.

Once we got tired of that (and believe me, it takes a long time to get tired of that), we headed over to Sacre Coeur, or Sacred Heart. It's basically a huge old church that I'm not even going to pretend to know the history of. These are the things I know about Sacre Coeur: 1.) it's beautiful; 2.) It looks over all of Paris; 3.) It's worth a trip, even if the guards inside are super mean and yell at you if you sit down (but my feet are tiiiiiiired, and I thought anyone could go in the church because seriously? It's a church). So yeah. Big and white and pretty. Lots of pictures of Jesus. Can you tell I've studied churches in depth?

We sat on the steps of Sacre Coeur for a long time, just admiring the view and talking. It was lovely. The sun was out, the steps were warm, and we were together in Paris. What more can you ask for? (Maybe first class seats on the flight home, but that's another story for another day).

Finally, we decided we were ready to brave the metro at rush hour and started down the mountain to get back home. Unfortunately, there was a whole gang of scammers standing at the base of the Montmartre steps, one of whom came after Matt insisting that Matt would have a lot of fun if he would just allow the man to tie something that looked suspiciously like a cable tie around Matt's finger because s'il vous plait, Monsieur, is just like magic! And I guess it is a lot like magic, if you consider magic to be having to pay the guy money to get whatever it is off. But because we are street smart, we brushed right past him while shooting him dirty looks. Par for the course, y'all.

For dinner that night, we decided to try a brasserie called Les Cascades that was basically across the street from our hotel, based on the excellent recommendation from the night clerk at the hotel, who is clearly the night clerk for a reason. Because he knows nothing. We asked him if he could recommend a restaurant, any restaurant at all outside of our neighborhood, and he stuttered over this question for a while before muttering the equivalent of "I do not know." Which: really unhelpful. So we found our way over to Les Cascades and really felt sort of pleased with it. After a week of awkward restaurant encounters, we found our way inside, were seated without incident, and had a friendly waiter to boot. The snails were incredible (oh yeah, and I had snails for almost every appetizer. My body is probably like 60% snail at this point. I'm sure I'll start growing a shell soon), and Matt had a french onion soup that frankly, was to die for, with a giant wedge of cheese and toasted bread slowly incorporating themselves into the soup. The steak frites (steak and fries) were disappointing, the steak was tough- the béarnaise sauce, however, was incredible. You win some, you lose some. Additionally, the crepes with nutella were wonderful, though I felt that the crepes were a little thick. But maybe I'm just a crepe snob. I could live with that title. And the wine…I was not in love with. A Cote de Provence Rosé…eh. I could have done without it.

After we came home, we again watched Money Drop (oh french game shows, let me count the ways I love thee), and then passed out. No snoring on my part this time though- at least, not that I'm aware of…

Click to read about our adventures on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.

Paris: Wednesday...Because Why Not?

We woke up pretty late Wednesday morning; I guess a combination of exhaustion and jet lag finally set in. Matt once again got us some croissants for breakfast...really, is there anything better than a croissant in the morning? It never fails to get us moving (and by us I mean me...because I'm really the only one with issues waking up. I know that's very surprising to all of you) and ready to face the day.

We began the day by heading out to the Latin Quarter, to visit the Pantheon there and get a bite to eat. I got a picture of the hotel we stayed in last time I was in Paris: it was so charming when we went! But the square was much busier than I remembered, and the building next door to it was under some kind of major construction, so there was stuff everywhere blocking it.

Hotel du Pantheon

We also decided to explore the Pantheon. Matt wasn't too keen on the idea but now says it was one of his favorite parts of the trip. It's an amazing building- the sheer size of it takes your breath away. We managed to get yelled at also, because I was leaning too closely to one of the murals on the wall while taking a picture (sorry monsieur, but it's not like I don't know not to touch it or something. Us Americans aren't nearly as stupid as we look), so I was pretty embarrassed about that until we headed down to the Crypt.

The Pantheon

The crypt is my favorite part of the Pantheon. It's pretty creepy, it's absolutely huge, and (at the risk of sounding crass) there's a ton of really famous dead people down there. It's an awesome collection of bodies in a really morbid way. It's also freezing down there. Who knew dead people had to be kept so cold? Or maybe it's because (surprise!) the Pantheon has no heating/ac system. Who knows.

Creepy.

After the Pantheon experience, we decided we were very near starving so we headed over to Crepes a GoGo, a restaurant that I've also been to before. Unfortunately, we betrayed our American roots rather fast by being unable to figure out the etiquette for being seated. Do you just sit anywhere? Does it matter? Is inside different from outside? We still haven't learned the answer to this question: however, luckily, we did learn that as long as you walk in and look sort of uncomfortable and confused, someone will come help you. It's a little embarrassing, but not as embarrassing as I would imagine getting yelled at by a french waiter to be if you mess something up (hint: it's probably traumatizing). We both had savory crepes: Mine was called Le Cheverette and came with goat cheese, cream, and honey. Matt
had something involving cheese and bacon, and both of them came with green salad piled high on top. Don't worry though, I was able to pick through it.

I've also been ordering Orangina with every meal, and it's been costing me between 3 and 5EUR every time, a price I consider to be exorbitant for something that is essentially sprite and orange juice mixed together. But I guess that's just France for you. We also have wine with every dinner, and Matt has a beer of some variety with just about everything he eats (except for the croissants, although I think that may just be because even here, drinking anything other than a mimosa before noon is considered...irregular). Also, the beer and some
glasses of wine are cheaper than the aforementioned Orangina. Unbelievable.

So feeling like we had finished the Latin Quarter (though I'm sure we did nothing even near that), we headed over to the Louvre. Now, I was very excited for this part of the trip...but not because of the art. I mean yeah, the Mona Lisa is awesome and stuff, but holy cow it's a Gigantic Castle. This is pretty much my dream museum. I guess I just once again proved that I'm not old enough to appreciate art...somewhat. I mean, I love art. I go to the torpedo factory all the time at home, and I love little museums and stuff like that. But the Louvre...is huge. And there's a ton of art in it. And you couldn't enjoy it all in one day even if you wanted to. There's just far too much of it, and that's really how I feel. There. I said it. Even though that's practically sacrilegious here in France, I find it difficult to appreciate one certain statue when there are 40 more just like it lining a single hall. So sue me.

Musee du Louvre

Well anyway. We forgot to pick up a map in the entrance hall, when we first arrived, and as a result we couldn't find what I wanted to see, which was the Mona Lisa. So, unbelievably, we had no idea where she was. We were literally running up and down the Grand Gallery trying to find her, and we just...couldn't. We couldn't do it at all. We did manage to locate a couple who was clearly looking for the same thing we were, and were clearly willing to ask people for directions...so we let them do the work and followed them around. And finally we found her in some side room (thanks, Louvre), and I have to say, I was pretty impressed. I mean, I hear a lot of people say that they waited in some huge line for hours and they finally got to see her right before the museum closed and she's so small, and what a disappointment, and oh not worth it but it's da Vinci so we have to...but I actually really liked it (there you go Leonardo, I guess you have my approval). Total understatement, but she's beautiful. And the sfumato background is beautiful. And her smile is just as enigmatic as everyone says. And good gosh does she look like Leonardo when you get up close. So, yeah, completely worth the trip (though I didn't stand in line, so I can't speak to that).

What really made the trip to the Louvre worth it to me though were the preserved apartments of Napoleon Bonaparte himself. That sounds really dumb, but to someone wandering the Louvre just trying to imagine what it was like as a castle, and what it was like to live in, it was like finding a gold mine. His apartments defy description. They were beautiful, ornate, luxurious...perfect. The good news is, I found my preferred decorating style. The bad news is, it's probably going to cost us several million to decorate anything like that. Oh well. I guess you can't have everything... Poor Matt was having to help me wipe the drool off my face the whole way through the exhibit. Oh, it was beautiful.

My dream dining room.

The Louvre was about to close by the time Matt and I got through everything we wanted to see, so we wandered outside and sat by one of the many fountains by the entrance to the Louvre, just sort of taking in everything and enjoying the end of the day. It was quite lovely out, and we managed to find the part of the courtyard where there weren't 500,000 tourists. That view of the Louvre always really brings home for me how big that thing is. It goes off into the distance. It's unreal. I love it.

Too beautiful for words.

We went home for a little afterward to relax, and watch some TV. There's always some kind of variation of a game show on, and we have become addicted to Money Drop and the French version of Family Feud. I won't bore you with the details, but they are fabulous.

We were so exhausted from the day that we ate dinner in our room and then went to bed. It wasn't a majorly notable night or anything. I love being able to by alcohol at the grocery stores here though. They don't even bat an eyelash. It's going to be hard to go back to the
states and wait for 2 more years.

Click to read about our adventures on Monday and Tuesday.

Paris: Tuesday...In which we eat much food and get very tired

So, after a fairly eventful night (waking up at 3am, falling back asleep at 6), Matt woke me up around 8:30- and I was very tired. We had a lot on the agenda for the day, and I guess he felt like we needed to get moving ASAP. Or I told him to get me up then. Either way, it felt way too early to be conscious. So while I whined and rolled over to go back to bed, Matt went across the street to our local boulangerie (a store that sells baked goods- mostly pastries and breads) and got us some croissants and juice. The croissants were flaky, light, and delicious. Every country should be so lucky as to have stores that sell them on every street corner.

After we were rejuvenated by the magical power of croissants, we set off on a mission to purchase a train card, also called a Navigo. In France your transportation payment options are somewhat limited- you can either buy a ticket every time you need to go somewhere, costing about 2EUR a pop; you can buy books of tickets (by amount or per day), or you can do what we did and buy a Navigo pass. The last option isn't typically mentioned in travel books: we've heard the french are somewhat hesitant about selling these passes to foreigners, although there's nothing in the law that says you can't. So, armed with an email from the RER metro office saying that we could indeed buy the passes, we set off to find the vender.

The train station we went to was a maze. Up and down stairs and escalators, across platforms, through exits and entrances, continually advertising "confused American" every time we whipped out the map or scratched our heads in despair at our inability to find this stupid office. No one was particularly willing to help us either- this was something that was extremely frustrating, especially since we were asking in french, mes amis. So it wasn't like they couldn't understand us. One gentleman in a booth that clearly said he sold tickets was especially unsympathetic, as he just flat out refused to say anything to us but "non." So when we finally found the woman who was selling them, it felt a little like we had just found the holy grail of train tickets. She was extremely unhappy to be facilitating this transaction, and clearly considered the very idea of selling two Americans these passes akin to an act of treason. But for 38EUR we got them, and they're very fancy, and lovely and they make us feel like Parisians. And as long as we use them roughly 4 times a day, they pay for themselves. Worth it!

So with this accomplished, we went on our way to meet up with Devlin Cole. Devlin is the older sister of Matt's best friend Taylor from school, who is currently living in Paris while she takes a break between college and medical school. Her apartment was heart-breakingly cute, and was enough to make us want to move here now! Now! Now! We first walked to the palace that currently houses the Senate, though we hear very little work actually goes on there (surprise!). We also saw the fountain of Catherine de Medici (very pretty and ornate, though I hear the woman herself was less so), and then decided to continue onto a walking tour of Le Marais. We hadn't even planned to visit this neighborhood, but Devlin sold us on it so we were off! And we are so happy we went.

Matt and I in front of the Senate building

We first went to grab some lunch at L'as du Fallafel, a tiny, super busy felafel joint along one of the main shopping streets in Le Marais. We each had a felafel pita: the best I've ever had (no offense Mom). Crispy and delicious- exactly how a felafel should taste. It was even up to Matt's standards, which is major since he's had felafel in Israel. It was a little overwhelmed with vegetables though, and although I struggled through for about half the sandwich (during which I consumed more vegetables than I probably have in the past year, I should get a medal) I ended up fishing out the balls with my fork (haha), and you know what? No one even looked at me funny.

A street scene in Le Marais. Although it's far lovelier than this picture portrays.

After lunch we went for a stroll. Le Marais is also the Jewish quarter, so there were plenty of stores that Matt was interested in. There were so many people wearing yarmulkes around that he felt comfortable enough to wear his star of David necklace visibly (he's been hiding it for most of the trip). We then decided to go and find some pastries to eat (for dessert, of course), and ended up sitting in a small boulangerie while enjoying macaroons (chocolate, passion fruit, and caramel) and pain au chocolat (chocolate croissants). They were so delicious. At this point, Matt and I were dragging with exhaustion, so going to a museum next was probably not the best idea (actually I know it wasn't), but we went anyway. It was the museum of Jewish history, and it was...mind numbingly dull. For me, anyway. Sure, there were a few cool things, like what synagogues around the world look like, and a few neat art pieces, but there was just nothing there that really grabbed my attention. Matt was practically sleep-walking through most of it, so I'm not sure how he felt about the content.

To wake ourselves up, we all went for a walk out of Le Marais, back to the Hotel de Ville, where Matt and I re-enacted the famous kissing scene in front of it (yes, and we took a picture), and then headed over to the Centre Georges Pompidou. The centre itself is very odd looking...it's an abstract art museum inside, but we opted not to go in and instead sat outside by a fountain, and watched some french children play an increasingly-dangerous game of soccer.

Kissing in front of L'Hotel de Ville

First of all, let me just say that all of these kids clearly possessed much better, and more expensive wardrobes than I do. Seriously. Each 3y/o boy had on tight jeans, fashionable sneakers, a big puffy coat, and a scarf. Little boys. Boys that, in America, would get dressed in the most durable material available on the market because they get dirty, and they're rough, and they rip things. But no. Not in France, I suppose. Another difference: 3 of the kids got in a bit of a fight, and the mother of one boy tugged him over to sit next to her by his hair, with him screaming and carrying on. Publicly. In the states, that lady would be arrested and her kids would be put in foster care and it would be abusive and awful and embarrassing. Here, no one even looked up.*

We went in two of the churches, Notre Dame and Saint Chapelle, both very impressive and beautiful and...churchlike. Certainly worth the visit, but there's not a lot to say about churches. Although Matt thinks any church you have to pay to enter is a church not worth seeing, so I practically had to drag him by his hair. Just kidding. Not really.

The beauty of Saint Chapelle. My camera didn't quite do it justice.

By the time we got back to the hotel to change for dinner, we were completely exhausted. Falling asleep where we were standing exhausted. But we sucked it up and made our way to La Pre Verre for dinner, a restaurant described as a "neo-bistro" (new style bistro) and wine bar. After getting fairly lost at night and being unable to find anyone who would explain to us what to do, we cursed ourselves for not having a cellphone and then wandered around until we found the correct street. We met up with Devlin there and had a delicious 3 course meal- I had the scallops with lemongrass, the steak with wasabi sauce, and then for dessert, we all split a cheese plate, salted caramel flan, and chocolate and truffle cake and ice cream. It was quite good- the scallop dish was my favorite, lemony and sort of sweet and delicious. I even ate the puree of green stuff in the middle. The steak wasn't spicy at all, it had a few sweet notes and was cooked perfectly. The desserts I found to be forgettable, but the cheeses were fabulous. Stinky and creamy and soo worth the indigestion later.

By the time we got back home we were worn out. I fell asleep with my finger on the mouse, on the scroll bar, so that every time I breathed the screen moved up and down...and then I snored so loudly I woke myself up. Because I am gross. Also, Matt almost died laughing at me. It was horribly embarrassing.

So that was Tuesday's adventure. The longest day we've had so far.

*Which is not to say France condones child abuse. I'm just pointing out the differences! 

Click to read about our adventures on Monday.

Paris, Day One: We Made It!

We have finally arrived.

The plane ride wasn't so bad, although neither of us slept for more than an hour total. I learned how to play gin. The elderly french couple in front of us was sort of obnoxious for the first few hours (they leaned their seats all the way back into Matt), but we negotiated for them to sit up by helpfully describing how to turn the lights on and off (in french). They were indebted to us after that.

Matt: Please stop acting like you've never been on a plane before, Chelsey.

The train rides were not so fun. Next time I would probably go to Gare de Lyon and take a taxi from there. We had 3 changes to make, and all the trains were packed. Oh, and Matt and I couldn't figure out how the ticket system worked so we probably broke a few laws. Whoops. And the Parisians evidently only believe in escalators when they go the opposite direction from what you need, so my arm muscles are now huge because I dragged that damn suitcase up and down more flights of stairs than I care to think about.

The walk to our hotel was fairly easy, once we got it sorted out, and they even let us check in almost 4 hours early. Thank goodness because we both stink. It's very cute, although our room is tiny and the bathroom was designed around a midgets specifications. But it's Europe. Also, we have a mini balcony and windows with no screens, which I am in love with. The owner speaks English, she seems very nice. And we're on the second floor. It's perfect.

Jet lag hasn't really set in yet, as Matt is professing to feel like normal after showering and looking like a normal, non-stressed-and-haggard-looking human being again. So I have hope. That said, we're going to bed at 8pm tonight. Maybe we'll find a cafe to plan the week out in. It's up in the air.